


Chiaroscuro

by veronicacooper



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Alternate Universe - Psychiatric Ward, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, Family Issues, Fluff, Non-Graphic Violence, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicacooper/pseuds/veronicacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all places, a Psychiatric Ward was most definitely not where Laura imagined she'd find her light in the dark. By meeting a trio of gingers, a hyperactive jock and her over-sharing roommate, who soon become her first real friends - she finds comfort. But it isn't until she meets the dark-haired, brooding girl on level three that she realizes - maybe she can be happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea came to me a while back. And I finally got around to writing it! I don't have a specific update schedule, but if this story takes off, I'll probably figure one out. Anyways, enjoy!

**chi·a·ro·scu·ro**  
(kē-är′ə-sko͝or′ō, -skyo͝or′ō)  
_n._ The arrangement of light and dark elements in a work of art.

 

I suppose, in retrospect, I really should have seen this coming. 

But the woman writing down every detail of my life - my social security number being the least invasive question - and the nurses standing in-between me and the only exit?

Yeah, pretty sure that just sent me a _massive_ dose of reality.

I eventually lose interest in what my father is telling the woman at the counter, and their voices blur together. I take the time to survey my surroundings. The interior of the building is bleak and unwelcoming. White walls with bleached floors to match. I hope to god the whole building isn't like this. It's about as welcoming as Alcatraz.

Actually, now that I think about it, Alcatraz seems more appealing.

I'm brought back to reality (again) when a nurse prods me in the back.

"Ms. Hollis," he grunts, and gestures to my father and the woman at the counter.

I read the nametag attached to her scrubs. Natalie.

"Hi, Laura. Can I call you that?" she says in a falsely sweet voice.

I glance between Natalie and my father, contemplating my options. Well, the sooner I comply, the sooner I'm out of here, right?

"Sure," I shrug nonchalantly.

"Okay, well, we just wrapped up with your information, so say goodbye to your dad now."

I sigh exasperatedly and turn to my left, meeting the sad eyes of my father. He pulls me in for a gentle hug and pats me on the back hesitantly.

"They're gonna fix you up real good, kiddo," he says into my hair.

Right. Because I'm broken.

"Bye, Dad."

He lets go. And that's when they grab my arms and push me through the door and into the next room.

It's a little nicer than the entry room, but that isn't saying much. There are racks filled with bags and clothing and other belongings lining the walls. In the corner there's a curtain. That's where they push me next. I notice the only people who come with me are two female nurses. Right. I can see where this is going.

We disappear behind the curtain, and they look at me almost apologetically. "This is the least fun part of this whole process," one of them sighs, "my name's SJ, by the way."

She's pretty, with her medium length brown hair and amber eyes. She's also really young - I wonder why she ended up working at a Psych Ward.

"So, um, you can take off your shirt and pants now," SJ says uncomfortably.

I grimace but nod. I don't really have a choice. I slip out of my shirt and jeans, my shoes coming off in the process. The cold air hits me and I shiver. Thank god they let me keep my bra and underwear on. "Oh no, those go too," the other nurse says, gesturing to my body.

_Great._

I do what she asks of me, and end up stark naked in the middle of the room. Fun times.

"The reason we do this is to get rid of any zippers, laces, anything a patient could use to hurt themselves," SJ explains, collecting my clothes and putting them in an oversized Ziplock bag.

"I'm not in here for self harm," I cut in, but she shakes her head.

"Patients have a history of becoming depressed when they initially begin their therapy as a result of visiting their problems. Besides, you might not hurt yourself, but another patient would. Here," she hands me a pair of burgundy scrubs, and I take them.  
"We just have to check your body for any burns, scratches, cuts, etcetera, and then you can be on your way to rehabilitation."

I clutch the scrubs to my chest as they examine my body, and practically jump into them when they're done.

They take my weight, my height, and various other minor details about me, and then they give me a pair of slip on shoes. No laces.

"How come I can't wear normal clothes? That's what all the kids in the movies do in these places," I gesture to my scrubs as they walk me out into another hallway.

"You can, once you reach rank three. You get a shoe upgrade at rank two. No laces, though," she reminds.

"Rank...?" I trail off when we stop in front of a door.

"I'm sure one of the other patients will tell you all about the ranks," SJ says, waving me off, "anyways, this is the common room. You spend most of your rec time here. Go on!"

She nudges me forward and I push open the door. It slams shut behind me and suddenly a room full of eyes find mine. Well, shit.

//

I find myself sitting in a corner, in a plush armchair. They've kind of thrown me into this without much warning. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing at the moment, but the general population seems to be mingling with one another. That's something I can do.

I settle on a lone redhead, tapping their foot and their fingers. An impressive feat. I slide into the seat across from them at the plastic table and meet their eyes.

"Hey, I'm Laura," I offer my hand, and they take it hesitantly.

"I'm LaFontaine," they say.

"Interesting name," I comment.

"It's - um - I'm, it's cause I'm... non binary?" LaFontaine stammers.

"Non-binary?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah - um, like, they and them pronouns?"

The way they say everything makes it sound like a question. It's something that would bother me if I weren't in here - but I am in here. And maybe this ginger has some condition where they can't help but speak in a questioning tone.

"Oh, got it," I smile at them, "I'm gay, if that makes you any more comfortable with me."

"Oh, really?" they perk up slightly and return my smile.

"Yep! So anyways, I'm new here, and they really didn't explain anything, so do you mind helping me out a little?"

"Oh - y-yeah, of course," LaFontaine looks almost taken aback by my request.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," I raise an eyebrow.

"N-no, it's fine," they tap their fingers harder on the table, "it's just, we don't r-really let a lot of people i-into our friend group cause' w-we're all really close, y-you know?"

"I can leave if you want..." I offer, noticing their obvious discomfort.

"No!" they practically shout, and then take it down an octave, "I'm sorry, its just... I h-have _anxiety_ , but it's been getting better, and talking to people... It's _good_ for me."

I get where LaFontaine is coming from. Judgement from others is a big deal for me too. I mean, that's what got me in this mess, isn't it?

"Well, where are your friends?" I ask.

"Right here," a new voice joins us, sitting down next to LaFontaine.

"My name's Perry," the pretty redhead with curly hair says, smiling brightly at me.

She's wearing a light green turtleneck. I notice LaFontaine is wearing a long sleeved navy blue shirt. So they're rank threes.

"Nice to meet you, Perry, I'm Laura," I say.

"So, Laura, I see you were making friends with LaF here," she says slowly, picking at the peas on the plate she brought to the table with her.

Everything on Perry's plate is perfectly separated. The peas are all resting next to each other flatly - whereas on my plate, if I had one, they'd be in a messy pile in the corner. It's not hard to figure out what her problem is.

"OCD," I blurt before I can stop myself.

Perry puts down her napkin.

"Tourrettes?" she says, almost a whisper.

"No, actually, I'm just a journalist," I laugh awkwardly at my joke.

"It's okay that you mentioned it. We're supposed to be open about everything here," Perry shrugs before I can feel too bad about it. "So you're rank zero, huh?"

"I... guess? I just got here, so. No one really told me anything."

"Well, you've got those ugly scrubs on, so that makes you rank zero," LaFontaine says. They even crack a smile.

Weird. They were a lot more awkward before the other ginger got here.

"Yeah, when do I get rid of these?" I groan, looking down at my clothing.

"If you're good, maybe only a few days. If you slip up..." LaFontaine shrugs, "a lot l-longer."

"Here's Kirsch and Danny," Perry interrupts, and I turn to follow her gaze.

Holy amazon goddess.

//

Danny and Kirsch seem to only hang out with each other for the sake of their mutual friends. I don't think for one second they've stopped arguing since they sat down. Kirsch is a bit of a goofball - he has strange opinions that I don't necessarily agree with. And Danny, she _really_ doesn't agree with anything he says. Which is entertaining until you realize they never stop.

"Kirsch, would it _kill_ you to not slurp on your soup?" Danny snaps at him.

"This is just how I eat!" he whines.

Danny huffs and brushes her ginger hair behind her ear. There are a lot of gingers here, now that I think about it. I wonder if there's something in their genes that make them psycho. Speaking of which, Danny runs a fitness club for women called the Summer Society that takes place during after-therapy rec time. Kirsch and his "Zeta Bros" call it Psycho Society. Perry thinks it's rude, but, in a place like this? I think it's fitting.

//

After rec time, LaFontaine and Perry take me to personal therapy. It takes a while to figure out who my counselor is, because apparently none of the staff members or nurses seem to have the clearance to look it up in the system. Finally, I see SJ talking to another nurse, and after asking her a few questions, she remembers that my counselor is a guy named Dr. Vordenberg. He sounds like a wild time.

I walk back over to LaF and Perry, who were waiting for me across the hallway.

"Dr. Vordenberg," I state, and they spring into action.

"His office is down this way," Perry says, turns to the left, and leads me down the hall, LaFontaine trailing behind us.

I don't really know what I should expect from this whole "personal alone-time counseling help" therapy thing, but maybe it'll help me. And then my dad won't look at me like I remind him of his failures in parenting.

Yeah, that'd be nice.

"This is his office!" Perry stops in front of a wooden door.

"Thanks," I say, and stare at it.

"It's not gonna open itself," Perry nudges me.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. What's after this?" I turn to face the two gingers.

"Rec time from three to five, dinner from five to six, visiting hours are six to eight, and from eight to ten is roomtime. Lights out at ten. You can find us in the common room afterwards, if you'd like," Perry offers, and I nod.  


"Okay, well, we have to get to our own counselors," she states, and turns to leave.

"Wait!" I call, and she halts. "Does Danny hang out with you guys a lot?"

LaF smirks and whispers something in Perry's ear, earning a smile from her as well. "Oh yes, she's with us quite a bit. In fact, she'll be at dinner with us."

The revealing grin that spreads across my lips must confirm their suspicions, and they both laugh. Perry pats LaFontaine's shoulder and they start to head down the hall in the opposite direction.

LaFontaine sends me an awkward goodbye wave that I return before entering the office.

As soon as the door closes, an elderly man looks up at me through his glasses. He grunts to himself and returns to the folder on his desk. The folder with my picture in it. Oh. My folder.  


So he probably already knows everything about me. I mean, that saves me from the awkward experience of talking about my problems. Except this is therapy, and that's exactly what I have to do. Crap.

There's a chair opposite his desk that I assume is meant for me, so I slide into it. He clicks his tongue and turns a page in the folder. I've barely been here for an hour, and there's already pages of information on me. Which is probably all from my dad's mouth.

The clock ticks by, and Dr. Vordenberg just keeps reading. I'm beginning to think that the whole hour is going to pass by without him even speaking to me, but I'm proven wrong when he closes my folder and gives me a small smile.  


I feel like I should smile back, but I don't. It's easier to smile at people who don't know what's wrong with me - who won't judge me for things I can't control. But he knows. So there's no need for me to keep up my facade in here.

"Ms. Hollis," he begins, his voice having the slightest trace of an accent that has faded over time. "my name is Dr. Vordenberg. I'll be your counselor for the remainder of your stay here - which is also something that I determine the length of."

Oh great. The psychologist decides how long I stay here for? I'll never leave. I sigh and nod, getting another smile from him.

"So, since it's your first day here, I'll fill you in on everything you need to know. Here," he says, and withdraws a small orange slip of paper from his desk, handing it to me.

I take the slip from his hand and read it over.

_**Palisades House Daily Schedule** _

**8:00 A.M:** Rise and shine time!

 **8:15 A.M:** Blood pressure and temperature taken, medicine administered

 **8:30 - 9 A.M:** Breakfast

 **9:15 - 10 A.M:** Morning therapy (group)

 **10 - 10:45 A.M:** School

 **10:45 - 11 A.M:** Snack

 **11 - 12:30 P.M:** School

 **12:30 - 1 P.M:** Lunch

 **1:00 - 2 P.M:** Midday Rec Time

 **2:00 - 3 P.M:** Afternoon therapy (personal)

 **3:00 - 5 P.M:** Afternoon Rec Time

 **5:00 - 6 P.M:** Dinner

 **6:00 - 8 P.M:** Visiting hours or rec time

 **8:00 - 10 P.M:** Roomtime - return to your dorms, lights out at ten

I might have taken the whole thing more seriously if they hadn’t opened the schedule with the phrase “rise and shine time”. I mean come on - seriously, are we twelve? Actually, scratch that. There might be some twelve year olds here. Sucks for them.

I must have been frowning at the paper for longer than necessary, because I feel Dr. Vordenberg’s hand touch my wrist, startling me. “Dude, not cool,” I mutter, and slip the paper into the pocket of my scrubs.

“My apologies, Ms. Hollis, it’s just that we have quite a bit of information to go over, as it’s your first visit,” he removes his glasses from the bridge of his nose and places them in a brown leather case resting atop a stack of papers.  


"From what I understand from the information in this folder, it was your father that dropped you off here?”

I nod. “Yeah, about an hour ago.”

Vordenberg clicks his tongue again. He seems to do it habitually whenever he’s in thought. It’s kind of _really_ annoying, but I’m not gonna say anything about it. Unless he does it again.

“Well, it wasn’t a split second decision he made,” he continues, and I raise an eyebrow. “He’d come here before with concerns. We told him the signs, and, when he caught you this morning, it seems that it was enough to drive him to leave you with us.”

This was a surprise to me. I’d been so _careful_ , going to painstaking lengths to hide it from everyone. And my dad had seen through it all. Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit. Maybe I should have tried harder to keep anyone from finding out. Then I wouldn’t be here in this awful place, sitting across from this white _raisin_ who’s about to pick my brain.

"We won't dig too deep today," he locks his fingers together and rests his hands on his desk, leaning forward. "But I do have to decide what medication to put you on."

_What the hell?_

"Wait, _medication_? I don't need medication." I splutter and cross my arms.

That's crazy. They want to drug me up despite the fact I've only just arrived? Am I really that messed up? I start to formulate an argument in my head - one that involves me shouting something about wanting a lawyer - but Vordenberg continues talking before I have a chance to state my side.

"It's standard procedure. Every patient here receives medication. Some... _more_ than others, I will admit. But I'm confident that something like Prozac will be enough for you."

" _Prozac_?" I shout, and stand up rapidly, the chair sliding into the wall behind me.

"Ms. Hollis," he warns sternly, "if you don't remain calm and seated, I _will_ be forced to call security. That will only hinder your progress, and cause me immense displeasure."

The sharp nails digging into my palm jolt me from my rage-induced haze, and I uncurl my fists. I retrieve the chair from its spot behind me and pull it forward before sitting in it once more.

"Why did you feel the need to react so violently?" Dr. Vordenberg asks, slowly reaching for his pen. He's not subtle enough that I don't catch the movement, and I'm not an idiot. I know he's going to write down everything I say.

"I'm not suicidal or depressed or anything. I don't need Prozac."

My words are met with a raised eyebrow and a few loud scribbles on paper. He clicks his tongue.

Seriously? I'd smack him if he wasn't like, ninety three. If he wasn't my ticket out of here. And if the thought of violence didn't make me squeamish.

"Actually, Prozac has been proven to... decrease the urges of your condition. Along with being an antidepressant. Most of our patients are on it."

How reassuring... the go-to drug here is an antidepressant.

"Do I have a say in the matter?" I sigh.

Dr. Vordenberg chuckles lightly and hands me a slip of paper with my prescription. "Sorry, Ms. Hollis, but your rights were signed away the moment your father checked you in."

//

"Oh y-yeah, we all t-take Pro-z-z,"

"Prozac," Perry finishes, earning an annoyed glance from LaFontaine.

"Well, does it help?" I press.

"P-personally, I'm pretty... s-sure it's the x-xanax that helps me more than t-the prozac, but i-it's all that Perr... takes, a-and she seems to like i-it, right, Perr?" LaFontaine stutters and runs a hand through their short locks before placing it on the table.

"Oh yes, it helps me quite a bit. Removes the obsession from my compulsions, if you will," the curly haired girl smiles and places her hand on LaF's rapidly tapping one.

LaFontaine stops tapping as soon as Perry runs her thumb along the length of their hand. I smile to myself at the gesture. It's sweet, that they could find each other in a place like this.

"How long have you been together?" I can't stop the words from spilling out. Maybe I do have tourettes. Does Prozac fix that too?

"Together?" Perry laughs, except it's not the lighthearted one she usually gives. This one is tighter, almost pained.

LaFontaine smiles and laughs, following Perry's lead, but it doesn't reach their eyes.

Crap. This is a touchy subject.

"Oh, well, you two just seem very close. I'm sorry," I try to laugh it off, but the atmosphere is a lot thicker.

There's silence at our table for a moment until Perry slides off the bench. "I'm going to see if they'll let me help in the kitchen," she says quietly, and then disappears through a door.

"So..." I trail off, unsure of what to say.

"U-um... We've known e-eachother since we were k-kids. Perr offered to c-check in here too, i-if I did, b-because she saw how much I n-needed help." LaF says, so quickly I can barely catch their words.

I raise my eyebrows in shock. I'm not sure if I'd do that for a friend. Come here of my own will? I know I've got problems, but, jesus, Perry must be the most selfless person alive.

"That's... wow. Perry's a great friend."

"I don't k-know what I'd d-do without her. When I'm w-with her... it's l-like all of m-my anxiety goes away," they admit, shifting their gaze nervously.

"Yeah, but, isn't it bad to be so dependent on one person? I mean, what if she leaves? Then what do you have to take away your anxiety?"

LaFontaine's expression changes suddenly and I grimace. Well, that was most definitely not the right thing to say, judging by their reaction. Honestly, how did I ever make friends?

"Perr wouldn't leave me," they muttered, staring down at the table.

"No, she wouldn't," I reassure, and then change the subject as quickly as I can. To the first thing that comes to mind. "So where's Danny?"

LaFontaine perks up at the change of subject matter, and even gives me a knowing smile. "She's at a Summer Society m-meeting right now, remember? It's afternoon r-rec time."

"Oh," I say, slightly crestfallen.

"I mean, we c-could always g-go _watch_ them," LaFontaine says after a moment.

The thought of seeing Danny - not to mention in athletic clothing and possibly sweating - prods me into action, and I stand up, reaching for LaFontaine's hand. They accept it more quickly than they had the first time we met, and I pull them up from the table bench gently.

"Lead the way, ginge," I gesture towards the nearest door, a thick steel one with no window, and they shake their head fervently.

"That leads to l-level three. Danny's _outside_. In a m-much better p-place," they lead me away from the door and towards a set of unlocked double doors.

But my mind stays on the one we just left. The creepy-looking one that LaF really didn't want to go through. The one that led to... level three? What the hell is level three?

//

"It's where people who screw up go," Kirsch says.

"Aren't we all here because we screwed up?" I raise an eyebrow curiously.

"Not all of us screwed up," he shrugs. "I haven't done anything. My parents just can't handle me. But those dudes on level three - they can't control themselves. They usually don't stay there too long, though."

"What's it like there?" I ask.

"I've never been there, but some of my bros tell me it's pretty bad. They get a lot less freedom and they mostly stay in their rooms."

That doesn't sound entirely pleasant, so I make a mental note to try to behave. I don't particularly want to take a trip down to level three - or is it up, since this is level one? I shake my head to clear my thoughts and then look out across the field. It's lined with a ten foot tall chain link fence, with a few guards supervising the activities.

LaF had seen someone they knew right after we got out here, so they left me here with Kirsch. He's not so bad when he's away from Danny. He says "bro" and "dude" and various derogatory terms towards women, but other than that, he's a nice guy. Well, manchild.

I’m pretty sure he’d rather be playing basketball by the way he keeps glancing longingly over at the court, but he stays here with me instead. I, on the other hand, am fully enjoying my time ogling at Danny Lawrence. She streaks across the field, clutching her lacrosse stick, with the other kids on her team in tow. She must have changed her clothes after her afternoon therapy session, because _wow_ , she was _not_ wearing those shorts and that tank top before. Believe me, I would have remembered.

“So why’s Danny here?” I ask, to a painfully bored looking Kirsch. Maybe I _should_ let him play basketball.

“D-bear? She runs the Summer Psychos,” he raises an eyebrow.

“No,” I laugh, “I mean _here_. This place,” I gesture around to the building we’re leaning against.

“ _Oh_ ,” he grins. “I knew that. She has anger management problems -” Kirsch shakes his head hurriedly when he sees my jaw drop before continuing, “no, she’d never hurt anyone. She takes her anger out on objects.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment there I thought my fixation was a murderer. Although, she’s technically a murderer of inanimate objects, right?

“Why’re you here?” Kirsch asks, and my heart stops.

The question I’ve been dreading. I can’t avoid it forever.

“Oh, w-well, you know,” I stammer, and I can feel my face start to heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he flashes me a lopsided smile and stretches his hand towards me. “You don’t have to tell me. _But_ , in case you were wondering, I've got a bad case of ADHD. My bros make fun of me for it sometimes, but,” he shrugs, “I can’t really help it, you know? My meds help a bunch, which is great... I wonder what's for dinner..."

"Kirsch," I chuckle and shove his shoulder, "go play basketball. I'll be fine."

"Great," he grins in relief. "See you later, little hottie!" I feel him kiss the top of my head sloppily and I grimace as he runs off to the court.

I shudder and shake my head rapidly, hoping to somehow dislodge the slobber that I'm pretty sure is I'm my hair. Ugh, _gross_. Kirsch is a literal puppy. With ADHD. Oh wow, okay. He is a puppy.

Danny chooses that moment to make a goal on the field, earning a cheer from her teammates and a few disgruntled looks from the other team. I shoot up from my spot on the floor and let out a loud yell, clapping my hands rapidly. Most of the people around me send me a frown, and I even get a few concerned looks from supervising nurses. I wave them off, pointing a finger at the now complete lacrosse game.

When I turn around, I let out another yell - this time because there's an extremely attractive ginger up in my face. Well, to be entirely specific, her... chest is in my face, and her head is somewhere, probably _far_ above me.

Her laugh reaches my ears and she pats me on the back. "Relax, Laura, it's only me. Where are LaF and Perry?"

"Hey, Danny," I say, my voice muffled by her body.

Her arm drapes over my shoulder and down my back, but I don't feel like pulling away just yet. I'd rather not have her see my face that is undoubtedly bright red judging by the burning sensation.

"Hey, your heart is beating really fast. Did I really scare you that bad?" Danny says, her voice heavy with concern. She takes a small step back, keeping her arm wrapped around me.

I wince as she studies my face. "Maybe..."

"I'll try not to sneak up on you again," she laughs and pulls me in for another hug before stepping away from me completely. "But really, where are LaF and Perry?"

"Oh, um," I run my fingers through my hair and try to gather my thoughts. "Perry... Perry, Perry, Perry... Oh! I think she went to help out in the kitchen. And LaF left me to go talk to some guy."

"JP?" Danny smirks.

"I think that might have been it."

"What about the giant, idiotic oaf that Perry and LaF insist on hanging out with?"

"Kirsch is playing basketball," I say, and nod my head in the direction of the court.

"Right," she nods, "now that we know everyone's still alive, I'm gonna go take a shower. Do you want me to walk you somewhere?"

"Sure!" I say, way too excitedly. "I mean, I guess you can. If you want."

Dammit, Hollis. So much for playing it cool.

"Okay, well, where do you want me to walk you?" She raises an eyebrow.

Crap.

"I don't actually know," I say sheepishly.

"Have you been to your dorm yet?"

That should've been an obvious one. There has to be _somewhere_ I sleep in here. Although, I imagined more of a hanging-from-the-ceiling-in-a-straight-jacket-cocoon as our sleeping arrangements. Well, dorm could still be a fancy term for that.

//

Turns out, my dorm room's actually pretty pleasant. And my roommate Betty is... well, pretty normal. She had a bout of depression that caused her to wind up in here, but she's been doing a lot better. She thinks she's close to escaping this hellhole. We get along pretty well after the first five minutes, discussing the chore wheel that she's created, which I think is an incredible idea. She says I'm the first to think so.

I also find out that the dorm rooms and the bathrooms are the only places in the whole building without cameras. There are cameras in the hallways outside the dorm rooms, but if you walk through at the right angles, you can avoid getting caught on them entirely. Betty says she learned that when she hooked up with one of the nurses. Which, personally, was a little too much information for me.

I'm waiting for Danny to come back and get me from my dorm when Betty tells me she's heading out to dinner early. For personal reasons. Followed by a wink. So I tell her to make good decisions.

And, a new development - if I don't manage to mess everything up, tomorrow my dad can bring markers, stuffed animals, blankets, and pillows from my home during visiting hours. Which will put me at Rank One. Only two steps away from normal-people clothes. Score.

There are a few rapid knocks on the door, and I get up from the bed on my side of the room, straightening my scrubs as best I can, and turn the knob.

"You ready?" a smiling Danny asks. She's changed into a red and white baseball shirt, jean shorts, and a pair of black, laceless Vans.

I guess you really can't have laces, no matter what rank you are.

"You _bet!_ " I say, and swing my arm cheerily.

Danny raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't comment on my embarrassing antics. And wow, everything I do is embarrassing.

"Okay, well, let's go then. The others are probably waiting," she steps out of the doorway, leaving room for me to squeeze out, and closes the door behind me.

"Your roommate seemed nice earlier," she comments as we walk.

"Yeah, she's super cool, actually. She has a _chore wheel_ ," I enthuse, and Danny laughs.

"You're probably the only person to get excited over a chore wheel, Laura."

"Well, I could have a lazy, messy roommate, but I got one with a chore wheel! So I think that's pretty neat," I pause, and crinkle my eyebrows. " _Literally_ neat."

"Oh my god, shut up," Danny laughs again as we enter the common room.

The first thing I notice are a mix of nurses and kitchen staff hurriedly rushing around, trying their best to fill the buffet tables lining the room with food before the patients in the room form a starving, angry mob. I guess that's what I am now, too. A patient.

The food they're dishing up doesn't look gross, surprisingly - in fact, some of it looks pretty appetizing. Like the _chocolate chip cookies and grade soda - oh my god._ I guess the hefty sum my dad has to pay for my time here includes meal payment, because they can't be giving us this food-that-isn't-slosh for free.

"So you like what you see," Danny says, following my gaze to the cookies and grinning.

"Definitely. This is like a _movie_! I thought they'd be serving us... I don't know, mystery meat?"

Danny laughs in response to my enthusiasm, and pulls me along by my hand in the direction of the now food-covered tables.

"Laura!" LaF calls as we pass by their table, and whistles at me with a wink.

I discreetly flip them off. With my thumb up as well, of course. I never had it in me to give someone the straight-up middle finger. But times are a changin' - who knows what I'll be capable of when I leave here?

"So, Hollis, what'll it be?" Danny perks an eyebrow at me expectantly.

My gaze travels over the trays of steaming food. There's an insanely large selection, and I have no idea what to choose. So I load my plate with one of everything, and top it off with another plate of cookies and two grape sodas. Locked and loaded.

"That's... A _lot_ of food, Laura, are you sure you can handle that?" Danny says as we near the table where our friends are busy chatting.

"Of course I can," I snap, and instantly feel guilty at the sight of the hurt in Danny's eyes.

"Sorry," I sigh, "I'm just... fed up with people underestimating me and judging me."

Danny smiles softly at me, but her eyes retain the hurt look I caused. I have a feeling she'll remember this. Ugh.

"Come on, let's sit down," she says, and slides onto the bench across from LaF, Kirsch, and Perry.

They launch into conversation immediately - saying something about the nurse that checked me in, SJ. But I drown them out, because I have a few plates of food to finish. And I'll be damned if I don't enjoy every last morsel of it.

//

"What do you mean the bathrooms are closed for an hour after meals?" I say, panicked.

"C-chill, Laura, it's standard p-protocol. J-just hold it for a-a little bit," LaFontaine pats me on the shoulder and gives me a sympathetic look.

I try to calm down, I really do. I try to hide it, to push it all down. But I'm so fucking sick and _tired_ of doing just that. So I fall to my knees and cry. Right there in the dormitory hallway.

"O-okay Laura, let's get you in y-your room if you're g-gonna do this," LaF sighs, and loops their arms underneath my shoulders before pulling me through the open door of my room and onto the bed.

They clamber up next to me, and I lean my head on their shoulder. It's a bit uncomfortable because LaF is slightly taller than me, but I can't be bothered to care.

"I miss my dad," I sniffle.

I'm pretty sure I'm getting snot all over their sweater. I'll have to wash it for them later, or something. If we even wash our clothes here.

"I miss my p-parents too," they sigh, and rub soothing circles into my back. "But, h-hey, visiting hours tomorrow - you m-might see him then."

"I h-hope so," I say, my voice muffled by LaF's shoulder.

But I'm pretty sure they hear me, because they give me a pat on the back.

//

"Empty, empty, empty," I say aloud, mentally checking off each stall as clear in my head before stopping at the last one.

It's shut, so I push at it. It swings open.

Empty.

"All clear," I mutter, and shut the door of the last stall behind me.

As soon as the lock slides into place, someone enters the bathroom. Or - judging by the multiple footsteps - two people. Just my luck.

"Oh, you're so hot -" - there's a smacking of lips - "bro, I've been waiting all day for this -"

Wait a second, _bro_? Yeah, I definitely know that voice. I take a step towards the door of my stall and peer out through the crack. What I see is - shocking, to say the least.

"SJ," the giant, childish beefcake whines, and I roll my eyes in disgust.

I take a step back, and the toilet behind me roars to life. Oh, lovely. It's motion activated.

"Shit, we gotta scram," Kirsch gasps, and I hear them run out the door, their footsteps gradually fading away.

When I'm sure they're not coming back, I sink to the floor and place my head in my hands. The wall is cool against my back. It's comforting, actually. I always liked cold things. Wintertime at the Hollis household was the best time of the year. But it's not like that anymore.

And I'm reminded again, when my head is over the toilet, my hand holding my hair up and the other down my throat - that this _isn't_ like a movie. This isn't some glorified motel that we checked into. And if it is, it's the Hotel California - because we can't leave. And maybe, _maybe_ all of this isn't our fault. But I can't stop now. This is just how we are. _This_ is what I am.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is carmillacumstein, come talk to me!


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